


Whiskey on Your Lips, Temptation in Your Hips

by ranguvar82



Series: Bar Owner and Bookseller: A Love Story [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Agender Aziraphale (Good Omens), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Angels and Demons are rival syndicates, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley owns a speakeasy, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Murder, Period-Typical Homophobia, but only from one character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranguvar82/pseuds/ranguvar82
Summary: It's the Roaring Twenties, and Prohibition is in full swing. Anthony James Crowley, ex-Demon and owner of Eden's Serpent, the only neutral speakeasy in the town of Tadfield, is living his best life. Really. He's not lonely or miserable at all. So when he finds a man bleeding on the steps, he's prepared to offer sanctuary. He's not prepared for a literal Angel to fall in his arms.Aziraphale Fell, reluctant Angel, is in trouble. A lot of trouble. He's heard that Eden's Serpent is safe. He's expecting sanctuary. He's not expecting to fall hard and fast for the owner, an ex-Demon with golden eyes and hips that could tempt a priest to sin.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bar Owner and Bookseller: A Love Story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690504
Comments: 46
Kudos: 136





	1. Of Angels, Demons, and Eden's Serpent

Whiskey on Your Lips, Temptation in Your Hips

Chapter One: Of Angels, Demons, and Eden’s Serpent

“Gabriel, please! I said no! Why won’t you listen to me?!” Aziraphale Fell pleads with his brother, eyes wide and fixed on the tattoo needle in Sandy’s hands. “I don’t want to be an Angel! I just want to run my shop! Please!” He struggles, but the grip of his brother’s lieutenant Michael is implacable. His brother, the head of the crime syndicate known by all of Tadfield as the Angels, sneers at him.

“You are such a goddamn coward. Stop acting like the limp wristed cake eater you are and act more like a man. You’re my fucking brother, Az. You really thought you’d get off not being one of us?” He nods at Michael, and she rips off Aziraphale’s shirt, leaving him bare. “Sandy, if you would.”

Sandalphon grins and holds up the needle. “Where you want it, Boss?”

Gabriel ponders, then smiles. “On his back. Makes it harder to remove that way.”

“NO! NO! NO!” Aziraphale screams as the needle, dull from use, digs into his flesh. Mercifully, it doesn’t last long, and he passes out from the pain.

He awakens on the floor of his bookshop, his back a mass of red, raw pain, two large angel wings a permanent, grim reminder of what he now is. He curls up, buries his face in his hands, and sobs. He never wanted this. He’d known that Gabriel was a bootlegger, a gambler, and more than possibly a murderer, but he thought if he stayed out of the way and ran his little bookshop, they would leave him alone. Now he’s marked forever, a brand that can never be removed. No Angel will remove another Angel’s wings, and to get someone else to do it is a sure way to get both people killed in violent, messy ways.

He’s trapped.

“ANATHEMA!!” The shout echoes through the empty building. It’s followed shortly after by the source of the shout, one Anthony James Crowley. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Anthony, or Crowley as he very much prefers to be called, is seething behind his stylish glasses and sharp suit. “ANA...”

“I heard ya the first time, boss. You don’t have to bust your vocals.” Anathema comes in from the back, her arms full of produce. Crowley glares at her. She glares back, unimpressed. “What?”

“What took you?”

Anathema rolls her eyes and sets the pile down on the bar. “They were busy.” Crowley blinks at her. “Okay, so I may have stopped to talk to the little guy who runs the paper stand.”

“Wot, that Lizard guy?” Even though Crowley’s been in the States for ten years now, his English accent has stubbornly refused to vanish. He thinks it adds an air of respectability to Eden’s Serpent. Ana thinks it makes him sound like a tosser.

“His name is NEWT. And he’s cute, so there.”

“Watch yourself. You’re a real bearcat, and he’s kind of a wimp. Though who knows, you might get manacled to him.”

Ana throws a pear at him. “For your information, Newt thinks I’m a choice bit of calico. And you’re one to talk, Mr. “I’m too cool for any sort of lasting and meaningful relationship.”

Crowley growls at her and polishes the glasses in lieu of replying to this unfortunate truth.

It’s not that he doesn’t want a relationship. He does. He so, so does. He’s a huge fan of romance, of courtship, and all that jazz.

Sex though...that he could do without. And of course, if word got ‘round about the type of relationship he really wanted, his tough guy rep would take a huge nosedive.

He almost had something with Raven Sable, the chef that used to work for...well, for some people that Crowley was once with. But Sable had just been using Crowley to climb up the ranks, and now Sable was a Horse Person, one of the higher ups, and Crowley was a Nobody, an Outcast.

Without realizing it, he rubs his arm where his snake tattoo sits. Sometimes, if he looks too hard, he can see the mark of the Horns beneath, a sign that he was once a Demon. He winces as he remembers the final conversation with his cousin.

“ _I’m getting out, Bee. I can’t do this anymore. Luke’s getting way too dangerous, and the Angels are starting to reciprocate. I can’t...he asked me to kill a kid, one of the Angels’ kids. I’m done.”_

Leaving the Demons had not been easy. It had, in fact, been the opposite of easy. Hastur and Ligur, Luke’s most trusted flunkies, had used him as a punching bag. But Bee had gotten him out safe, and they kept the peace as best as they could.

He has built his club/speakeasy Eden’s Serpent from nothing, taking a run down building in the warehouse district and turning it into a hotspot for anyone who wanted to escape the rigors of Prohibition. The whiskey flowed like water, the gamblers came flocking to fleece and be fleeced(Crowley was smart enough to not rig every game in his favor. You gotta keep the gullible idiots coming back, after all), and thanks to a little deal he had made with one Sergeant Shadwell of the Tadfield Police Department, he never had to worry about raids from overzealous officers.

He has just one Rule. Eden’s Serpent is Neutral Ground. Angels and Demons alike are welcome, but if any fights start, Crowley will put a stop to them. He’s a lot stronger than his wiry frame suggests, and for people that still won’t take the hint, there’s Anathema Device, cook, bartender, part time witch, and possessor of a tongue that could eviscerate a man at a hundred paces. Crowley has seen her send a giant man that was threatening to bust up the poker tables scramming off with his tail between his legs.

A series of slow, thudding knocks on the metal door jolts him from his reverie, and he looks over at Anathema. “Delivery?” She shrugs. Sighing, he knocks back a finger of whiskey(the good shit, not that panther piss that so many other speaks peddle) and goes to answer.

He barely manages to get the door open when a man falls into his arms. Crowley catches him on instinct, noting three things. One, he’s covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. Two, he’s got a gigantic angel wing tattoo on his back. And three, even under all the blood, he’s the most gorgeous person Crowley’s ever seen.

The man lifts his head and stares at Crowley through bruise-closed eyes and speaks in a mangled voice.

“Please..help me.”


	2. Of Sophisticates and Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Angel meets an Ex-Demon, and Crowley absolutely does not act like a love sick idiot.

Chapter Two: Of Sophisticates and Sanctuary

The first thing Aziraphale notices is that he’s lying on a bed of some sort. There’s a scratchy wool blanket covering him, and he can feel a spring poking into his back. Not exactly the lap of luxury, but far better than the cold concrete. The next thing he notices is that his face feels very tight. He tries lifting his arm, and a jolt of pain goes through him that makes him whimper.

“Hey, no moving.” The voice is soft and feminine, and Aziraphale cracks open an eye and squints into the darkened room. He’s able to just barely make out a vague lump that could be a person. Whoever it is comes closer, and Aziraphale blinks, wishing he had his glasses. “You need to give yourself time to heal. Can you tell me your name?”

“Az...’ he gulps, his throat as dry as the Sahara, and tries again. “Aziraphale.”

The woman shaped shadow smiles. “Well, Aziraphale, I’m Dr. Frances. I’m an...acquaintance of the owner. Now, I’ve stitched up the worst cuts, and cleaned you up, and given you some antiseptic bandages. I have to ask about...”

Aziraphale tries not to cry. “The wings. I didn’t want them, I swear I didn’t!” He sniffles, and the tears come. “Gabriel, he forced me...I would never...I could never...”

“Sshh, shh, easy. You’ll aggravate yourself and tear your stitches. You don’t look like the sort that would be an Angel. Now, I’ve prescribed some morphine, and I’ve told Anthony to make sure you get one pill a day. Don’t need you getting hooked.” Dr. Frances gently pats Aziraphale’s arm before leaving the room.

“Is he going to live?” Crowley(who has most certainly not been hovering) asks as soon as she’s in sight. Dr. Frances sighs.

“Yes. He’s taken quite the savage beating though, and will need time to recover.”

Crowley sighs in relief. “Thanks Doc. I owe you, yeah?”

“Let’s just call it even, Anthony. I’ll come by in a week to see how he’s doing. Make sure he gets the morphine if he really needs it. Bye all!”

Anathema smirks at her boss. “Now you can drool all over Mystery Angel Guy for a whole week!”

“Excuse...ngk...I do not drool over guys!” Crowley lies like a lying liar.

Anathema scoffs. “Well, you sure don’t drool over gals, and you practically had hearts in your eyes. I’m half expecting you to start spouting poetry. And I didn’t say guys, I said one guy. Mysterious Angel, saved by his Brave Knight, the dashing, handsome, sophisticated, Anthony James Crowley...” She ducks the bar towel Crowley throws at her.

“Shut. Up.” Anathema smirks louder and heads back into the kitchen.

“Shall I prepare a meal for the brave knight in tight pants?”

“ANA!!” Crowley whines in exasperation. Why in the Nine Hells did he keep her around? Right, the whole ‘able to send people packing with a glare and also is an exceptional cook’ thing. He groans, his head thudding against the wood of the bar.

What he’s told Ana is the truth. He doesn’t drool over guys. They drool over him. The suit, the sharp eyes, the hair, the walk. He’s got both men and women falling over themselves for a chance at him, and he’s cultivated that air of sophistication and sex appeal to a fine point. He’s turned down some choice pieces in the last few years, and the ones he did pick tended to be like him, all sophisticate and sex.

So why the Hell is it that he takes one look at this man, an Angel no less, and feels his heart start racing in his chest? He’s not even dressed well, for Cripe’s sake! A suit that looks like it was popular in the Victorian era and covered in dust. But he also has the most gorgeous blond hair, and Crowley’s always been a sucker for blonds, Raven not withstanding.

“Hey Boss, your damsel in distress is awake.” Anathema comes out from the back. “He’s asking for you.”

Trying not to look as though he’s about to jump out of his skin, Crowley heads towards the back. The Angel is awake, blinking into the dim room. “Er...hello?”

“Hey.” Real smooth, that. “Uhh...you’re safe.”

“Am I? Where is ‘Safe?’”

“Umm...you’re in the back of my club. Eden’s Serpent. Um...it’s...neutral. Listen, um...do you have a name?”

“Aziraphale. And since this is Eden, may I assume you are the infamous Anthony J. Crowley?”

Crowley grins. “At your service.”

Aziraphale squints. He can make out red and black, and that’s about it. “My dear, I am afraid I am quite blind without my glasses.”

Crowley’s grin gets wider, and like a magician doing a particularly good trick, pulls a pair of glasses out of the pocket of his shirt. “They were on the pavement next to you. A bit cracked, but they seem okay otherwise.” He hands them over, and Aziraphale slips them on. Crowley gasps.

The glasses show off eyes that had previously been in shadow, eyes that are a brilliant blue. Then Aziraphale smiles...no, beams, and Crowley feels as though he’s taken a slug of the finest whiskey.

‘ _Oh,’_ he thinks, ‘ _I’m in trouble._ ’

“...wasn’t my choice.” Aziraphale is saying something, and Crowley tears himself away from staring at his plump pink lips and wondering how he’d taste.

“Huh?”

Aziraphale sighs, the movement making him wince in pain. “Becoming an Angel. It wasn’t my choice. I run a bookshop, I never wanted to be caught up in my br...uh, in Gabriel’s mess. I just wanted to make that clear. After all, you..you’re a Demon, right?”

“Ex Demon.” He reaches over and places his hand on Aziraphale’s skin, trying to focus on what he’s about to say and not how silky smooth it is. “Listen, what I said earlier, about you being safe. You are. For as long as you need to be.”

“Th..thank you.”

Crowley groans. “Don’t thank me. Get some sleep.” Resisting the urge to kiss Aziraphale on the forehead, Crowley leaves.

Aziraphale falls back against the pillows, breathing a deep sigh. Anthony Crowley is...not at all what he expected. He’s...well, the only word that comes to mind is gorgeous. That red hair, the legs, the...oh, everything about him is so intriguing. And that walk! Aziraphale is fairly sure hips aren’t meant to move like that, but dear GOD is it mesmerizing.

‘ _Oh,’_ he thinks, _‘I’m in trouble.’_


	3. Of Martyrs and Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel acts like the ruthless asshole he is, and our boys act like lovesick loons.

Chapter Three: Of Martyrs and Miracles

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, ‘HE GOT AWAY?!’” Gabriel’s voice thunders through the room, causing the two flunkies in front of him to flinch. Michael, who is used to her boss’ temper, doesn’t so much as blink. Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose and takes several slow, deep breaths. “Can you please explain,” he begins in a tightly controlled voice, barely holding on to his rage, “what exactly happened?”

Flunky Number One gulps. “Uh...well, Mr. Arch, Sir, we did like you asked, we went over to your brother’s apartment to talk to him, and well, umm...y’see...”

“Ya didn’t tell us the ponce knew how to fight!” Flunky Number Two blurts out from behind bruised lips. “We got in some good licks ourselves, but the nancy boy did a real number on us!”

Gabriel glares at the two flunkies, who do indeed look a little the worse for wear. His only consolation is that he’s pretty certain Aziraphale looks worse. “So what you’re saying is, despite the fact that you are both supposed to be the best leg breakers in town, you let a soft, stupid little bookseller get the best of you?” He slams his hands on the table in front of him, half rising to his feet in rage. “IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE FUCKING SAYING?! IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE TELLING ME?!”

Flunky Number One hides behind his larger counterpart. “He was bleeding real bad though! He might be dead already!”

The rage seems to vanish like smoke. Gabriel is once again all smiles. “Yes, but that does not excuse it. I do not tolerate failure. I distinctly told you to bring Az here, did I not?” Both flunkies gulp and nod, eyes wide with fear. “You are both failures, and you know that failures have to made examples of. Otherwise, I become a laughingstock. Michael?”

Michael shoots both flunkies between the eyes before either of them have a chance to protest. She pockets her gun, still wearing the same implacable expression as always. “Want me to get Sandy to clean up?”

Gabriel brushes imaginary lint off his impeccably tailored suit. “Yes, and do me a favor and find out where the Horse People are.” Michael barely flinches, but nods.

“You want Sable or Chalky this time, Boss?”

Gabriel’s smile is colder than an iceberg. “Azrael.” Michael’s eyes go wide. “Nobody makes a fool out of Gabriel Arch. Especially not that idiot brother of mine. If he doesn’t want to be one of us, he can be a Martyr.”

“I bought you some soup.” Aziraphale smiles at the rather lovely young lady who has just com into the room. “I figured you might be hungry after two days of nothing but water. It’s French onion. Made it myself.” Aziraphale slowly sits up, and she sets the tray on his lap. The soup smells delicious, and Aziraphale’s mouth waters. “I’m Anathema. Anathema Device.” She holds out her hand, and Aziraphale loosely grasps it, giving it a slow shake.

“Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Device.” Anathema makes a face.

“Ugh, Miss Device is way too formal. Just Anathema will do.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Then Anathema it is. Are you Mr. Crowley’s umm...” he casts his mind about for the proper term. “His moll?” Anathema blinks at him, and Aziraphale flushes, certain he’s said the wrong thing. He’s never really kept up with the popular slang. He’s about to apologize when Anathema bursts out laughing. “I do apologize if I offended you, that was not my intention, oh dear...”

Anathema takes a deep breath, trying to speak between her screams of laughter. “Oh, it’s not you, you can’t be expected to know, but oh my god is that hilarious...” She reins in her laughter with effort, speaking in a voice that still shakes with mirth. “Crowley swings the other way.”

Aziraphale feels a small kernel of hope in his chest. “You mean, he, umm…?”

“Is attracted to men, yes. In fact...” she leans forward, a glint in her eyes. “He seemed rather taken with you.”

“Really?” Dear god, he has no idea his voice could go that high. Anathema grins wider and nods.

“Really. He was all hearts and flutters when he saw what you looked like after the Doc cleaned you up. Kept going on about how you looked like a real angel come from Heaven, and about how he was sure God had put you in his path so he could save you like a brave, dashing knight, and...”

“I DID NOT DO ANY OF THAT!!” Crowley’s voice is strangled, and Anathema turns, smirking at her boss, who is sporting a face that is the same shade as his hair.

“Really?”

Crowley growls at her. “Hadn’t you better get the prep done for tonight? Or did you forget that in favor of humiliating me?!”

Ana waves a hand. “ Course I didn’t forget. Cooking is my job. Humiliating you is a hobby.”

“Then I suggest,” Crowley growls again, “that you go do your fucking job, Anathema.” She flips him off and heads out of the room. Crowley sighs, looking over at Aziraphale. “You look, um...” ‘absolutely fucking gorgeous’ his mind supplies. “Better.”

Aziraphale blushes, and damn it, now Crowley has the overwhelming urge to trace that beautiful blush with his tongue and see how far it goes. “Oh, thank you so much. I do hope I won’t have to stay much longer.” He tries to lift his spoon to get some soup, and his muscles whine in protest. “Oh...”

Without realizing it, Crowley crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. This close, he can see Aziraphale’s eyes clearly, and he is mesmerized. Blinking, he picks up the spoon and scoops a bit of soup into it. Aziraphale looks at it, then at him. “You cannot be serious.”

“Yup. Open.” Crowley grins, and Aziraphale gulps. “I can sit here all day.”

“Of all the childish.. mmpph...” Crowley takes the opportunity and shoves the spoon in Aziraphale’s mouth. The flavor is quite good, and on instinct Aziraphale swallows.

“Now, are you going to cooperate next time?”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, Aziraphale allows himself to be fed. When the soup’s all gone, Crowley places it on a rickety bedside table. “Now, listen, what you said earlier...”

Aziraphale sighs. “My dear, I know you’ve said that I have sanctuary here for as long as I need, but I have a business to think of. I hate to imagine what Gabriel will do to it.”

Crowley waves a hand. “Ehh, it’s jake. I’ll have some street rats I savvy ankle over and give the joint a look see.” Aziraphale blinks at him, confusion in those brilliant blue eyes. “Uh, I’ll get some kids I know to make sure nothing’s happened to it.”

“Oh. Oh, well, that would be very nice, if you are sure they won’t be in any danger. It’s A.Z. Fell’s. On the corner of...”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Listen, you think you might be up to try and get up?”

Aziraphale ponders. On the one hand, he is getting very tired of looking at these same four walls. On the other hand, he is still in a lot of pain. On the other other hand… “My clothes!” He’s been in very comfy pajamas for the past few days, but pajamas are hardly proper attire for wearing any place but the bedroom and one’s own home. “I’m afraid I have nothing to wear.”

Crowley smirks and stands up, walking over to the door. With a flourish, he closes it, revealing a cleaned and pressed suit of clothes hanging from a towel holder. A very familiar suit, in fact. “Sent it to a dry cleaner I know that works miracles. They got it all cleaned up and sewn up. Ana sneaked it in last night when you were asleep. Surprised you didn’t...” he’s cut off when Aziraphale leaps out of bed and tackles him into a full body hug. “NGK!”

Aziraphale quickly pulls away, beet red. “Oh my dear I’m so sorry….”

“No, it’s...um...it’s okay. You’re welcome. Uhh...you um...get your glad rags on and uh...when you’re done I’ll...um...give you a tour. Yeah. I umm...got some things to do...I’ll..um..I’ll just go now.” Failing spectacularly to hide his raging blush, Crowley leaves the room.

He sets to work setting up the bar, focusing on the mundane task in front of him and not at all on how perfect Aziraphale had felt against him. He’s just about managed it when he hears the sound of the shower, and the image of a wet, naked Aziraphale springs to life in his mind. “Fuuccck….”

He’s got it BAD.


	4. Of Plants, Pasts, and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley puts his foot in his mouth, and Aziraphale is surrounded by flora. Also, a wild Warlock appears.

Chapter Four: Of Plants, Pasts, and Promises

Aziraphale’s not certain what he expects. He has of course heard of Eden’s Serpent, as has everyone in Tadfield. He knows that it has a reputation for being ultra modern for the times, very expensive, and very, very popular. So he’s not too shocked when he walks(well, limps) out of the back room he’s been in for the past few days and sees the glistening wood and chrome that make up the bar and tabs. Nor is he shocked by the gigantic mirror behind the bar, or the plush velvet stools, chairs and booths. Or the tables, polished to the same high sheen as the bar top.

No, what shocks him is the plants. Everywhere he looks, in every available space, there is green. It’s a riot of flora, like he somehow managed to walk into a florist’s shop. Plants between tables, hung from the ceiling, placed in small pots on the tables. Aziraphale has never seen so much green in one place in his life.

“What do you think?” The silk smooth voice behind him makes him jump, and he turns to Crowley, who is smiling. “Well?”

“It’s lovely. Are the plants…?”

“Real? Yup.” Crowley grins and ambles over to a fern, pretending not to notice that Aziraphale is rather blatantly staring at his ass. He looks over his shoulder, and the other man blushes crimson and stares at the floor. “This one needs a bit of discipline, though. Getting spots, and I won’t stand for that!” Aziraphale’s blush gets deeper.

“Umm...Crowley...I...was wondering...your accent...”

Crowley laughs. “Yeah, that’s real too. Lived in Mayfair most of my life, got bored and decided to come see what sort of action there was in the States.” His eyes go dark behind the glasses. “Got a little too much action.”

“The Demons, you mean.” Crowley grimaces. “If...if I’m not prying, how did you get mixed up in the first place?” Aziraphale looks at him, wringing his hands, and Crowley has never seen anything so utterly adorable.

“I hung out with the wrong people. My cousin, Bee, they told me that there was this guy Luke that I might get on with. Told me that he was just my sort, all charm and all that jazz.” Crowley sighs heavily. “What Bee failed to mention was that ‘Luke’ was Lucifer Star, the head of the Demons. They were right about one thing. Guy had charisma in spades. I was a Demon before I knew it.”

Aziraphale frowns in sympathy. “That’s pretty much how I became an Angel. It wasn’t really my choice either. But the Horns tattoo?”

Crowley unbuttons his shirt cuff and rolls up the sleeve, revealing a black and red snake tattoo coiled around a firm bicep. “When I left, I burnt the tattoo off, then had a guy I know cover it.”

“That must have hurt terribly.”

Crowley rolls down his sleeve and buttons back up. “Not as bad as you might think.” Aziraphale looks skeptical. “Okay, so it hurt like hell.” Crowley walks them over to the bar. “Want a drink?”

“Oh, I would love a Chateau Marguex!” Aziraphale gushes, sliding on to one of the very comfy bar stools. Crowley blinks at him.

“Yeah, don’t got any of that. I got whiskey, scotch, rye, rum, or brandy. It’s good shit, though, not panther piss.”

Aziraphale mouths ‘Panther piss?’ before sighing. “Well, if those are my choices, I suppose I’ll take a scotch. Neat.” Crowley pours him a generous portion, and fixes a whiskey for himself. “Well, um...here’s to…?”

“To new discoveries.” They clink their glasses together, and Crowley knocks back his whiskey. Aziraphale sedately sips his scotch. “So, Aziraphale. Where’s that from?”

“It’s the name of the angel that guarded the Eastern Gate of Eden. My parents were religious scholars.”

“Huh. You got any family?” Aziraphale freezes.

“Um...that is, I….”

Crowley leans forward in sympathy. “Let me guess, you aren’t on speaking terms?” Aziraphale nods miserably. “Yeah, same here. Only one that still gives me the time of day is my sister Harriet, and even she doesn’t talk to me as much since she married Thad the Ass.” He pours another shot for himself. “My Dad flipped his shit when I told him I prefer guys, and my mum just crawled into a bottle and never came out. I left to get away from them more than anything.”

Aziraphale gazes into his glass. “I...my parents were not happy when I told them, but they made the best of it. But then...I made a very big mistake. There was a young man, Stephen. He and I...we became close, exchanged letters. Very personal letters.” Aziraphale grips the glass, the memory still stinging. “It turned out that Stephen’s feelings were, shall we say, not as intense as mine, and he turned all my letters over to the authorities. I was given the choice between ten years in prison or exile.”

“Oh, angel...” Crowley sighs in sympathy, then gasps in shock as he realizes what he’s just said. Aziraphale is glaring daggers at him.

“ _ **Don’t call me that.**_ ” Aziraphale looks like he’s going to burst into flames. “Never, EVER call me that.”

“I..I didn’t mean...I only meant that your hair makes it look like you have a halo and you are really sweet and...” Crowley gulps. Aziraphale narrows his eyes, then sighs.

“Very well, I accept your apology. But you can understand my...reaction.”

Miserably, Crowley nods. He’s really put his fucking foot in it this time. But then Aziraphale smiles shyly, and Crowley feels his heart start to race again. “You think I’m sweet?”

Crowley attempts to look nonchalant. “Well, yeah, you have that air about you.” He melts further when Aziraphale blushes and touches his arm. More whiskey. Definitely more whiskey. He’s about to take another, much longer swallow(possibly forgoing the glass in favor of just taking a slug straight from the bottle) when there’s a knock at the door. Cursing every deity he can think of, Crowley goes to answer it. He blinks in confusion at the teenager in front of him. “You got the wrong place, kid.”

The teen, who has long black hair and looks like he’s skipped a few meals, grins at him. “Nope.”

“Yup. This ain’t no place for the youth, you dig me? Now why don’t you beat feet before I call the bulls and have you thrown in the pokey?”

The teen continues to grin. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Should I?”

The boy nods. “I’m Warlock.” Crowley narrows his eyes. “Your nephew?”

Crowley’s jaw drops. “Warlock?! Oh my god!” He yanks the boy forward into the building and into a hug. “I...” He holds him at arm’s length. “Hold it. Last time I clapped my peepers on you you were knee high to a grasshopper and had fuzzy brown hair. What happened?”

“Well, that was ten years ago, Uncle C. And my hair changed color.” Warlock looks around the bar. “Man, this joint is hot stuff!”

Crowley frowns. “Yes, thank you, and do you mind telling me why you have decided to show up here?” Warlock lifts his left arm, and Crowley sees the suitcase dangling from his hand. “Mother of...please do not tell me you’ve run away.” Warlock shrugs, and Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “Mother of mercy...” he’s about to say more when Anathema comes out of the back.

“Hey Crowley, phone for you. Who’s this?” She narrows her eyes at Warlock. Crowley groans.

“This is my nephew, Warlock Dowling, and also I’m almost certain the reason for the phone call. Keep him entertained until I sort it out, please?” Before Anathema can open her mouth, he’s gone.

“I am not a babysitter!” Anathema protests to empty air. “Ugh. Come on, I’ll get you a soda or something.”

She introduces Warlock to Aziraphale, pours the teen a soda, herself a VERY large glass of rum, and refills Aziraphale’s scotch.

Ten minutes later, Crowley comes storming out of the back, grabs a bottle of whiskey, knocks the top off, and drains half of it in one go. “Right. You’re staying at my place. Harriet told me what that asshole she’s married to did, and there’s no way I’m letting you go back there.” He slams the bottle on the counter. “BUT. I still have some rules. One. You will go to school. It’s a new semester, so getting you registered won’t be too hard. Two. I will give you a weekend job here doing the sweeping, cleaning, and any other task I can think of. You’ll get twenty bucks a week. Do a really good job, and I may increase that to twenty five. Three. If I so much as catch you SNIFFING any of my booze, I will not hesitate to send you packing. Do we have a deal?”

Warlock grins and shakes the proffered hand.


	5. Of Contracts and Contrasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael hires Azrael to 'take care' of Aziraphale, Anathema is frustrated, and our boys finally confess.

Chapter Five: Of Contracts and Contrasts

Michael prides herself on her ability to handle any situation with ease. It’s how she was able to rise up in the ranks of the Angels to become Gabriel’s right hand. Nothing scares her, nothing fazes her. If Gabriel wants a job done, she gets it done, no questions asked. This means that if her boss wants her to contract Azrael, then Michael will do it.

But she’d be lying to herself if she said that Azrael didn’t spook her. The other Horse People, vile murderers though they are, at least have some semblance of humanity, a cover. Sable’s a chef, Red runs a boxing ring, and Chalky is a mechanic. If you didn’t know who they really were, you wouldn’t look twice at them. And in their defense, when not under contract to either the Angels or Demons, they’re, if not wonderful people, at least somewhat tolerable.

Azrael, though. There’s no way anyone can look at those blank black eyes and not feel pinned as if by a shark. He’s ruthless, cold, and calculating. To him, death is nothing but a job, and it’s a job he does very, very well. He looks down at the photos spread out on the desk before him. “Is this the target?” His voice holds no inflection, just a flat blandness. It’s chilling. Michael nods.

“Aziraphale Fell. Gabriel would prefer the method be as...painless as possible. He was close with this Angel.”

“Lover?”

“Brother.”

Spidery pale fingers steeple together. “And why, Michael, am I being contracted to kill Gabriel Arch’s brother?”

Michael meets the cold gaze. “Because Aziraphale violated our number one Rule. He tried to leave.”

Azrael nods, then gives a cold smile. “Of course. I will expect my usual fee, plus a hundred because the target is...family.” Michael nods and reaches into her pocket, handing over a thick envelope. “Is there a set time?”

“Gabriel expects results, but he knows you are a..busy man.” Azrael nods again, and Michael shakes his hand quickly, then departs.

Azrael strokes one of the pictures. “Aziraphale...” His eyes, which had been flat and blank, are now bright with the promise of blood.

Anathema is pretty certain that she’s about to go mad with frustration. It’s been almost two months since Aziraphale almost literally fell into Crowley’s lap, and she has never seen her friend and boss as far gone on someone as he is on Aziraphale. If it weren’t for the sunglasses that he wears constantly, Anathema is pretty sure she would see hearts where his pupils used to be. He practically drools over the bookseller whenever he sees him, and ‘Confident and Cool Crowley’ has been replaced by ‘Lovesick Idiot who stammers like a loon when the man he is desperately in love with smiles at him’. Anathema still recalls one memorable incident.

They had gone out for a lunch date with her and Newt(after Ana threatened to castrate Crowley with a spoon if he made fun of his name), and Aziraphale had ordered a chocolate cake for desert. He had taken a bite, closed his eyes, and made a sound that would not have been out of place in an adult film. Anathema and Newt had been rather shocked, but Crowley looked like he was about to explode. Ana’s pretty sure that the only thing that was keeping Crowley from leaping across the table was the fact that they were in a public place. Then Aziraphale had moaned louder, and Crowley sucked in a breath, eyes blown wide behind his glasses.

“...your thoughts.” Crowley’s voice behind her jolts her out of the memory, and she jumps, turning around and lightly smacking his chest.

“You scared me!” Crowley looks supremely unconcerned. “And if you must know, I’m wondering when you are finally going to have the guts to tell Aziraphale that you are completely mad for him.” Crowley blushes as bright as his hair.

“That obvious?” Ana rolls her eyes, and Crowley runs his hands through his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers in a nervous gesture. “It’s just...Ana...Aziraphale is, he’s...”

“An Angel? Thought you didn’t care about that.”

Crowley gapes at her. “Of course I don’t! You really think I would?! Aziraphale, he’s...”

“Different? Not your usual type? Boring? What?”

Crowley sighs, looking down at the bar. “He’s...perfect. He’s soft, and sweet, and kind, and can be a real bastard. Remember I told you about how he handled that guy that wanted to buy a book?” Ana laughs, nodding. “And I’m...I’m fucked up beyond hope, I’ve done things that still give me nightmares, I...Ana, if I told him my biggest secret he’d be horrified and disgusted. Aziraphale deserves someone...someone that’s not me. I don’t have a chance with him.” He ends on a small sob, and Ana feels a pang of sympathy.

“But you do love him?”

Crowley nods, tears in his eyes. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. But I’m not the man for him. I can’t tell him. How could I tell him that I fell hard the moment he fell in my arms? How can I tell him that every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m being given the best and most wonderful gift I’ve ever gotten? How do I tell him that his eyes, his smile, everything about him makes me feel like I’m drunk on the best booze there is and I never want to sober up? I have never and will never love anyone as much as I love him. But let’s be realistic. There’s no way that he would ever feel the same way.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” The voice is soft, and Crowley gasps and spins around.

“Azira...how...how long have you…?”

Aziraphale’s eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Long enough.” Crowley gulps. Ana, being the very sensible person she is, sneaks into the back so she can spy on the proceedings. “Crowley, you...what you said...did you mean it?”

Crowley nods, then does something that he very rarely does. He removes his sunglasses, his golden eyes staring straight into Aziraphale’s blue. “Every word.”

Aziraphale chokes on a happy sob, and Crowley is around the front of the bar and in his arms before he can blink. “Aziraphale..I love you. God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Crowley laughs in joy and pulls Aziraphale into a deep kiss. “Love you, love you, love you...god I love you...you are my angel, I love you...so much...”

“Oh, my dear...love you...”

Crowley pulls away, his forehead resting against Aziraphale’s. “Shall we go someplace a bit more private, my love?”Aziraphale nods, and Crowley takes his arm and leads him outside.

Ana cheers in victory.

The door to Aziraphale’s apartment bursts open(it’s not the same one as before, Crowley has helped him find a new one and also made it clear that his shop was Of Limits)and the two men stumble in, lips locked together and hands roving over each other. Crowley pushes Aziraphale against the wall, sighing into his mouth as he chases Aziraphale’s own gasps and moans with his tongue. “Azi...oh...you taste so good...” He runs his hands down Aziraphale’s shirt, whining. “Off..”

“Please...” Aziraphale moans, and Crowley attacks his neck, sucking a bruise. Aziraphale yelps. “Fuuckk...”

It takes a bit of fumbling, but eventually Crowley manages to get Aziraphale’s coat and shirt off, leaving him bare. His chest is soft, but with an underlying muscle that makes Crowley’s mouth water. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the middle. Aziraphale whines and paws at Crowley’s shirt, and Crowley obliges him by unbuttoning it and tossing it to the side. He presses himself against the other man, moaning in his throat at how warm he is. “Aziraphale...did I ever tell you I can do really weird things with my tongue?” He whispers in his ear, and Aziraphale whimpers in longing.

“Whuh...sort of things?” Crowley smirks and traces his crotch with his forefinger and thumb. Aziraphale groans, bucking up into his touch.

“Why don’t I show you?” His golden eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, bore into Aziraphale, and the bookseller nods, his own normally bright blue eyes dark.

“Please...” That one word, moaned from between kiss-swollen lips, galvanizes Crowley to action. He’s on his knees and has Aziraphale’s trousers and briefs down before the other man can blink. “Crowley..I...OH MY FUCKING GOD...” Aziraphale falls back against the wall, panting and babbling as Crowley gives a practical demonstration of the sort of things he can do with his tongue. And his teeth. And his lips. And his mouth. “Fuck that...feels...oh god oh fuck Crowley yes please more more...fuccckkk...oh god oh god you...fuck fuck...”

Aziraphale’s vision goes white. When he comes to, Crowley is still on his knees, a smug smirk on his face. With a growl, Aziraphale yanks him to his feet and into a kiss. “That...was...amazing. Do you want me to…?”

Crowley grins. “If you like. But how about we move to the couch? There’s...there’s something I should have told you before hand.” Feeling nervous, Aziraphale leads him over. Crowley pulls him into his lap, kissing him. “Aziraphale, you are beautiful. And I do love you. And I’ll kiss you, and touch you everywhere, and...do weird things with my tongue, but...” Crowley sighs. “But I don’t want to have sex. I just don’t...feel that way. So now you know.” He waits for the explosion, waits for Aziraphale to demand that he leave, that he has just been leading him on.

Instead, Aziraphale pulls him into a slow, soft kiss. “Crowley, I love you. Nothing is going to change that. As for sex, I never saw the point of it either. Far too messy and sticky, if you ask me. And there’s so many things we can do that don’t involve..penetration.”

Crowley grins wickedly. “And you’d know about these things, would you?”

Aziraphale’s grin is just as wicked. “My love, I am VERY well read.” He cups the bulge in Crowley’s trousers. “Now, shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”

“Yuh huh.”

(Aziraphale, much to Crowley’s very vocal delight, gets several chances to show just how well read he is.)


	6. Of Suits, Songs, and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Also Aziraphale in a suit.

Chapter Six: Of Suits, Songs, and Secrets

Aziraphale wakes up feeling wonderfully achy all over, Crowley’s long limbs tangled up in his own. The bookseller sighs, pressing himself back against the bar owner. “Morning.” Crowley’s voice is soft with sleep, and Aziraphale sighs as Crowley gently presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, his fingers softly tracing the hated tattoo. “You know...I could have someone fix that for you.”

Aziraphale gulps. “An Angel can never have their Wings Removed. It’s Gabriel’s Number One Rule. Anyone who does gets killed. Trust me, I’ve tried. I must have gone to every tattoo parlor and artist in the city. Most of them wouldn’t even let me finish the words ‘I need some wings removed’ before they refused. A few even threatened to throw me out bodily if I didn’t leave.”

Crowley scoots forward and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Love, I didn’t say removed. I said fixed. Have them altered so they’re not Angel wings. Make them...your wings.”

Aziraphale gulps, then turns to look at his lover, who is gazing at him with so much love and affection that he is nearly overwhelmed. “You don’t think I tried that too?! There’s no point! There is not a single tattoo artist that will touch them! My brother’s influence is too strong! I CANNOT ESCAPE, DON’T YOU GET THAT?! NO MATTER WHAT I TRY, GABRIEL WILL...HE...” Aziraphale bursts into harsh, gasping sobs.

Crowley, however, is caught in one word. “Brother?” Aziraphale’s eyes go wide in shock. “Aziraphale...Gabriel...is your brother?!”

Aziraphale nods, hot tears pouring from his eyes. “I understand if you hate me for not telling you, but I didn’t know how, and I was so scared that if I told you you would think that maybe we staged my...my beating and coming to Eden and that I was just using you to...oh, I don’t know, get info about the speakeasy and so I kept it a secret and I expected to just...recover and for us to go back to our separate lives. I didn’t expect you to be so...so wonderful, so very wonderful and I didn’t expect to fall in love with you and I have, hopelessly, and you must hate me now and I wouldn’t blame you, but.. I’m so...sorrry….” Aziraphale dissolves into incoherent sobs, burying his face in his hands.

Crowley’s heart cracks, and he gently reaches out and removes Aziraphale’s hands from his face. “Aziraphale, look at me.” The bookseller lifts his head, and the anguish in there nearly makes Crowley start crying himself. Instead, he cradles Aziraphale’s face in his hands, peering intently into his blue eyes. “I am utterly, madly, desperately, and hopelessly in love with you. I had nothing worth living for until I met you. You are a literal goddamn angel. You are perfect. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, on this Earth will ever make me love you less. Okay?” Aziraphale nods, a small smile on his face. “There’s that smile I fell in love with.” He presses a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come to Eden tonight as my VIP?”

Aziraphale blushes. “What do I get as the VIP?”

“Well, for starters, free booze, all the food you want, and gambling.”

Aziraphale makes a face. “I get the first two all the time, and I’m not much of a gambler. You’ll have to sweeten the pot, darling.”

Crowley smirks. “How about the chance to see just how well I run the joint when there’s a full house?” Aziraphale still looks unimpressed. “As a bonus, I’ll throw in a performance by Patricia Moreland.”

“Patricia...how on earth did you get her?!”

Crowley preens. “Oh, she and I go way back. You’ve actually met her daughter.” Crowley laughs at the confusion on his angel’s face. “She’s the one always hanging out with Adam and those other boys.”

“Oh! Pepper! Yes! A lovely young girl.” Aziraphale does indeed remember the fiery young lady.

“Yep, that’s her. Her real name’s Penelope, but nobody calls her that except her mum when she’s in trouble. She and Adam have been thick as thieves since they were babies.”

“You seem to know rather a lot about them.”

Crowley sighs, rolling onto his back. “I used to work for Adam’s dad.” At Aziraphale’s frown, he clarifies. “Honest work. I was saving up money to buy the warehouse where Eden’s Serpent is now. I had...I took some money when I left the Demons, but I swore to myself that I’d only use it for good things. It’s what I used to buy my Bentley, and put six month’s rent on my flat. I haven’t touched the rest. Eden was bought fair and square.” He looks up at the bookseller. “I...when I was a Demon, I did some really awful things.”

Aziraphale strokes his arm. “That’s the past, my love. We both have darkness in our lives. But we’re each others’ light now.” Crowley surges up and kisses him.

“I love you, Aziraphale Fell.”

“I love you, Anthony James Crowley.”

Crowley groans. “Ana told you my middle name?” Aziraphale giggles, and Crowley shuts him up with another kiss, then another, and soon they are lost in each other.

By the time Crowley has (very reluctantly) left Aziraphale’s apartment and made it back to his, the sun is almost down. Warlock is in the living room, going over his homework. “Hey, Uncle C.”

“Hey Hellspawn. How was school?” Warlock rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“Good. How was Aziraphale?”

Crowley grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge, taking a swig. “Let me guess, one Miss Device told you the ruddy details.”

Warlock grins. “Yep. Also, she owes me fifteen bucks.”

“Why?”

“Well, I bet that you wouldn’t be coming home until tonight, and she said you’d be coming home late in the morning. I got closest, so I win.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and ruffles Warlock’s hair. “I’ve told you about gambling.”

“This from the man who runs a speakeasy.”

Crowley ignores this. “I’m thinking of making seafood pasta for dinner. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds great, Uncle C.”

“I KNEWWW ITT!” Anathema is beside herself with giddiness. Aziraphale watches, bemused, as she dances around the bookshop, cackling and crowing. “I knew you both had it in you!”

“Well, um...actually, there was no...we weren’t...inside...”

Anathema stops dancing and stares at him with such intensity that Aziraphale starts to feel nervous. “We were indoors, in my flat, we just..didn’t...umm...penetrate.”

Ana gasps in understanding. “Crowley told you about...”

“About not liking sex, yes. And well, I actually feel the same, so...”

“Has he...told you his other secret?”

Aziraphale gulps. “What..what other secret?”

Ana shakes her head. “That I can’t tell you. But suffice to say, it...it’s been a deal breaker in the past.” She shakes herself. “But never mind that! We need to find you a nice new suit for tonight! Come on, I’m taking you clothes shopping.”

Mind whirling, Aziraphale allows her to lead him out into the street.

“Patricia, you look beyond lovely, as always.” Crowley pulls the songstress into a hug, kissing both her cheeks. Patricia grins and busses him back, speaking in a smoky alto. “And you look as rascally as ever, Tony. Tell me, are the rumors true? Has the notorious Anthony Crowley found love at last?”

Crowley nods, blushing. “Yeah, and he’s going to be here tonight! I can’t wait for you to meet him, he’s wonderful, he’s...” Crowley’s voice dies in his throat at the vision in white that he sees heading his way.

Aziraphale is dressed in a suit similar to Crowley’s own red and black one, but this one is all cream and white, and it hugs all his soft curves in all the right places. He’s sporting a golden neckerchief, and has on gold cufflinks.

“Azira...ohh...you look...delectable...” Crowley wipes his mouth, pupils dark with desire. A soft chuckle from his elbow brings him back to reality. “Aziraphale Fell, may I introduce the next great jazz sensation, Ms. Patricia Moreland. Patty, this is Aziraphale, the love of my life.”

“Enchante. Madam.” Aziraphale bends and kisses Patricia’s hand, and she giggles.

“Well, what a lovely man you are! I approve, Tony. Now, I do believe you hired me to do some singing. I expect to know the full details of how you met when I finish my set.”

She heads to the stage, and Crowley rakes his eyes up and down Aziraphale’s body. “God baby, you look so damn sexy.” He grabs the other man’s hips, pulling him flush against his hard body. “It should be illegal to look as downright fucking gorgeous as you look. God...the things I want to do to you...”

Aziraphale arches one perfect brow. “I thought you wanted me to, quote, ‘see how well you run the joint when it’s packed?’ I believe those were your words this morning?”

Crowley whines. “Yes, but I didn’t expect you to show up in that suit! Damn it, Aziraphale, you look so damn hot! I want you!” He’s almost begging at this point. Aziraphale smirks.

“Well, you can wait. I want to hear Ms. Moreland.” With that, he gives Crowley a quick peck before heading over to the booth Crowley has set aside for them. It’s close enough to the stage to see the action, but private enough so Aziraphale won’t feel crowded.

After introducing Patricia to loud applause, Crowley slides into the seat next to Aziraphale. “You’ll like her, I promise.”

Aziraphale has to admit that Crowley’s right. Patricia is indeed quite a lovely singer. She’s got the crowd in the palm of her hands. Aziraphale is so caught up in her spell that he doesn’t realize that Crowley’s no longer next to him until he turns to ask him a question. “Crowley? Crowley, where are...OH!” Aziraphale nearly leaps out of the booth when he feels a hand pressing into his trousers. “What the hell are you playing at?”

Crowley noses him through his pants. “Won’t let me take you someplace else, so...”

Aziraphale is crimson. “There are people everywhere!” He hisses.

Crowley slowly undoes his belt. “Yeah, but none of them are paying attention to us. Trust me, Patty’s got them right where she wants them. And it’s dark, no one’s gonna be looking under the tables anyway. You just have to be quiet. Think you can manage that, baby?”

Aziraphale bites his lip and nods. “Yes, just...please Crowley...”

Crowley happily obliges him. Several times over. Aziraphale only keeps from shrieking his orgasms to the skies by digging his fingers so deeply into the booth’s cushion that he tears a hole in it.

Much later that night, after telling Patricia their story(Aziraphale got a very tight hug), they head back to Crowley’s apartment. “Warlock’s asleep, and trust me when I say he could sleep through a brass band, so if you want, we could...”

“I do.” Aziraphale kisses him, then remembers what Ana had said that afternoon. “Darling, do you...have any other secrets?”

Crowley sucks in a breath. “Ana told you?” A nod. “Well, can’t blame her. Yeah, but...this one I have to show you. Umm..sit down, and I’ll be right back.” He heads towards his bedroom, and Aziraphale perches on the couch.

It doesn’t take long for Crowley to emerge, and Aziraphale gasps at the sight. The red and black suit has been replaced by a beautiful red dress and black silk scarf, and Crowley’s hair, normally in a single pony tail, is tumbling down to her shoulders. “This is my big secret. I...I don’t really know how to explain it. I’m...sometimes I’m a woman, is the best way to put it.”

“My dear, you look beautiful.” Crowley gasps and runs over to him, falling into his arms. “What do I call you when you are a woman, love?”

“Antonia. You call me Antonia.”

“Antonia. My beautiful Antonia.” Aziraphale kisses her, slow and sweet. Crowley sighs.

“There’s...sometimes I feel like I’m both. And then I just go by Crowley. I haven’t...haven’t been Antonia or Crowley in a really long time, though, because I’ve been scared to, because...I don’t have a lot of good memories associated with them, but with you...maybe...maybe I can make better ones.”

Aziraphale kisses her again. “I will gladly erase every terrible memory from your mind and replace them with joyous ones, my love.”

“My angel...I love you.”

“As do I love you.”


	7. Of Dangers and Declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spit begins to hit the spam.

Chapter Seven: Of Dangers and Declarations

It’s been four weeks. Four weeks of utter bliss, of waking up in his angel’s arms, of spending their nights together snuggling, kissing, and mapping his perfect body. Four weeks where Crowley could almost swear that he has died and gone to Heaven. Four weeks of being able to be Antonia or Crowley, of Aziraphale singing his praises and declaring his love.

Crowley should have known that it couldn’t last. Nothing good ever lasts, not for him.

He’s on his way to Eden after dropping Aziraphale off at his shop when he hears a voice that even now sends a cold chill up his spine. “Hello, Crawley.” He spins around, heart pounding, and Hastur is leaning against a wall, glaring daggers at him. “Long time no see.”

Crowley gulps, his hand clenching into a fist. “I told you, my name is CROWLEY. And I thought Bee made it clear to the Demons that I was off-limits?” Hastur chuckles, a sound that chills Crowley’s blood, and whistles. Before Crowley can react, he’s grabbed from behind and dragged into an empty alley. Hastur smirks and stalks forward, a gleaming knife in his hands.

“You remember Ligur, right?” Crowley tilts his head, and the other Demon grins at him, showing a mouth full of rather ugly teeth. “Champion lurker, you know. Great at sneaking up on people.”

Crowley gulps. “I...what the fuck do you want, Hastur?”

Hastur grins, showing off teeth that are even worse than Ligur’s. “Oh, it’s not what I want. It’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to use my knife on you and cut you into pieces so tiny that they wouldn’t feed my pet lizard. I’m going to pay you back for ever thinking you could get away from who you are. And then Ligur and me, we’re going to pay a nice little visit to that pretty little thing that works for you. Bet she screams real loud. Ligur there, he’s looking forward to taking his time. Likes the ladies, he does. Then we’re going to burn that shithole of yours to the foundations.”

“Yeah.” Ligur speaks for the first time. “But don’t worry, we ain’t gonna bother that poncy bookseller we seen you hangin’ about with. He’s got bigger problems.”

Crowley’s mind is racing. “What...sort of problems?”

Hastur cackles, pressing his knife against the bar owner’s throat. “The Reaper is riding, Crawley. The Angels are looking to make his ass into a Martyr. If you were still one of us, you’d know this. Now, please, struggle all you want. Makes it more fun when you struggle.”

But Crowley has not heard that last bit. The words ‘Reaper is riding’ play over and over in his head, and he feels a surge of horror so intense that he nearly vomits from it. Oh god...he has to get out of this alley. His angel is in danger. He has to…

With a giant surge of strength, Crowley brings his leg up in a savage kick. There’s a sickening crunch followed by a blood curdling shriek. Hastur is on the ground, hands between his legs, fingers stained with blood. “YOU BROKE MY FUCKING DICK! LIGUR, KILL HIS ASS! NOW!”

Ligur’s arm tightens across Crowley’s throat, and he gags, spots swimming before his eyes. He claws at the arm wrapped around his windpipe, vision starting to go black. With one last titanic effort, he manages to elbow Ligur hard in the stomach. Ligur gasps, his grip loosening, and Crowley uses that one precious second to escape. He collapses on the floor of the alley and scrambles for Hastur’s knife. With a roar, Ligur leaps at him. Crowley spins around, and Ligur’s momentum propels him right onto the blade. He looks down in shock at the hole in his stomach, then gives a choking gurgle and falls back, blood pouring from his mouth.

“You...you killed him!” Hastur’s voice is high from pain and rage. Crowley isn’t listening, though. He stares down at the knife, then flings it as far as he can. “HEY!”

But Crowley is already gone, running like all the devils of Hell are on his trail.

Cursing up a storm, Hastur manages to limp out of the alley. He freezes in shock at the person standing in front. “Uhh...hey Boss. How..how’d you know I’d be here?”

Bee Zebub, right hand to Lucifer Star, is glaring at him in rage. “I followed you. Haztur,” they lisp(but no Demon would dare make fun of them) I thought I made it clear that my couzin waz off limitz once he left?”

“Well...umm...”

Bee’s glare deepens. “Yez or no, Haztur?”

Hastur trembles. “Yes Ser, but he...he killed Ligur!”

Bee peers into the alley. “No doubt in self-defenze. Haztur, you are no longer welcome in the Demon rankz. I would suggezt that you get on the quickezt train out of Tadfield.”

Hastur looks furious. “You can’t throw me out! Only Luke can dismiss a Demon!”

Bee grins. It’s not a nice grin, and Hastur takes a step back. “The orderz come from Luke. He’z tired of you being a thorn in hiz zide. You zhould be grateful he’z not ordering me to kill you outright.”Now, will you leave az ordered?” Hastur nods, miserable. “Good. But if you ever return, I will not hezitate to kill you.”

Aziraphale is straightening up his shelves of Shakespeare’s works(he’s arranging them by date of publication of the First Folios) when the door bursts open and Crowley comes racing in, screaming his name. “Back here, Crowley!” The bar owner comes around the corner, eyes wide with terror, and Aziraphale looks at him in shock. “Crowley, love, what...is that blood?!” The other man glances down in confusion at his shirt.

“It’s not mine, I’m fine, but angel, listen...you...you need to go home. Go home and pack. Pack a bag and...go. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Don’t even tell me. Just..you have to go!”

Aziraphale frowns. “Crowley, what on Earth are you going on about? I’ve got a business to run, I have...I’m not leaving you!” He yelps when Crowley grabs his arms.

“DON’T YOU GET IT, YOU IDIOT? I’M TRYING TO SAVE YOUR FUCKING LIFE! THE REAPER IS AFTER YOU!”

“What Reaper? What are you talking about?!”

Crowley takes a breath, forcing himself to speak calmly. “He calls himself Azrael. No one knows his real name. He’s a Horse Person, a killer for hire. Aziraphale, please...you have to go...maybe...maybe if you go far enough away, he won’t find you...please, my love…please..” Crowley dissolves into sobs, clutching Aziraphale’s jacket as he sinks to his knees. “Aziraphale...please...I can’t bear the thought of you dying...if you die, I’ll go insane...I can’t...I love you so much...”

Aziraphale kneels in front of him. “Crowley, what happened?”

Through hiccuping sobs, Crowley tells him. “So you see, you need to go. Please...”

“And what happens if this Azrael decides to come after you in revenge for my leaving? What happens if I come back and find out you’re dead? You don’t think I love you just as much? Would grieve just as much? If this person has named himself after the Angel of Death, I have the feeling that no matter where I go, he’ll find me. I would rather die, if that be the case, than lose you.” Aziraphale speaks in a voice filled with tears. “And at least...at least if I die here, I’ll be with you. I won’t be somewhere where you can’t...can’t comfort me in my last moments. Don’t ask me to leave, my dearest love. I will die without you.”

Crowley wails, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shirt, clinging to him as if his life depends on it. “No, angel, won’t ask, don’t ever leave me, don’t ever, I can’t live without you, I love you!” He gulps, breathing in the paper scent that is uniquely Aziraphale, then takes a deeper breath, and goes stiff.

“Crowley? Darling, what?”

Crowley’s glance darts around the room, and he leaps to his feet and yanks Aziraphale upright. “Angel?”

“What?!” The look of horror is back on Crowley’s face.

“ _ **RUN!!!”**_

Before Aziraphale can react, Crowley grabs his hand and propels him forward, out of the shop and down the street. “Crowley, will you please tell me what on Earth is going on?!”

That’s when the bookstore explodes.


	8. Of Trials and Traumas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our poor Ex-Demon is put through the emotional wringer.

Chapter Eight: Of Trials and Traumas

Crowley’s ears are playing Beethoven’s Fifth, he’s covered in dust, blood, and detritus, his suit is torn, and he feels like he’s been kicked in the chest by an elephant. With an effort that seems to wrench his spine in half, he staggers to his knees, blinking away the dust as he stares agape at the crater that stands where a bookshop used to. Thank the gods for his weird ability to sense when things were going to go south. “Holy shit. Look...” a spasm of coughs makes him shake, and he has to take several deep breaths before he can continue. “Looks like I got us out right in the nick of time, hey angel?” There’s no answer, not even an answering cough. “Angel?”

Silence. A deadly, heavy silence, and Crowley feels the darkness closing in on him. “Aziraphale?! Where are you?!” He frantically looks around, and spots the other man lying a few feet away. “Azira…?” Crowley crawls over. “Aziraphale? Baby?”

Aziraphale is lying face up, his beautiful blond hair a mess of blood and dirt, his limbs splayed out at an unnatural angle, and his eyes shut. He’s so covered in blood that Crowley can barely make out any other color.

And he’s not breathing.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley reaches out and runs a hand through the blood-soaked hair. “Aziraphale, baby, open your eyes. It’s...it’s Anthony, sweetheart, open your eyes. Please baby, please don’t do this to me, I got you out, I got us out, please angel, please...please, you have to open your eyes, I can’t do this alone, please...please don’t leave me.” But there’s nothing, and Crowley feels himself starting to slip. “You...you can’t be dead, I just found you and I can’t lose you, please...Aziraphale, please...GODDAMNIT, YOU FUCKING BASTARD, OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES! DON’T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME, YOU STUPID ANGEL! D...don’t leave...” Crowley sinks to the ground, sobbing so hard he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to be here. He’s not here. He’s not lying next to the love of his life watching him die. He’s not.

Voices, drifting in an out. “This one’s in shock...the one over here’s in real bad shape...Sir, can you tell me your name?” Crowley isn’t. He’s not. Aziraphale isn’t, so why should he be? He’s not. “Not gonna get anything out of him...best bring him along...”

Movement, sounds, flashing lights. Arrested? He’s been arrested before. More voices. “Get this one into surgery, NOW! ...Call Dr. Frances!... Hey, he’s an Angel!... So what?”

Hard. Plastic. Antiseptic smell. Hospital. Why? Aziraphale isn’t, why a hospital? “Anthony?” A voice drifting through his mind. “Anthony, honey, you need to look at me. Look at me, okay?” The voice is soft and persuasive, and Crowley lifts his head and stares dead-eyed at the woman in front of him. He knows her. France. Dr...Frances. “That’s it, look at me. They’ve taken Aziraphale into surgery, okay? Is there anyone I can call?” But Crowley has already left again. He doesn’t want to be. Not when Aziraphale isn’t.

“Anthony?” No answer, just a blank stare at the wall. Crowley can’t answer. He’s not here. “Anthony, is there anyone?” Not even a blink of an eye. Dr. Frances sighs and walks over to the reception desk, hoping that she can remember the number to Eden’s Serpent, and hoping against hope that there’s someone there.

“Hello?”

Dr. Frances sighs in relief. She recognizes that voice. “Anathema? It’s Dr. Frances. Listen, you need to come to Tadfield General right away. There’s been a...Anthony needs you.”

“I’ll be right there!” There’s a click, then a dial tone. Dr. Frances goes back over to Anthony, who is sitting in the chair staring at nothing, his knees drawn up to his chest.

“Anathema’s on her way. I’ll wait right here until she gets here, okay? I won’t leave.”

“CROWLEY?!”

“UNCLE C?!”

Dr. Frances stands up as Anathema, a young man wearing glasses and a teenaged boy come racing in. “What happened?” Anathema looks more worried than Dr. Frances has ever seen her. “Where’s Crowley? Is he okay?!”

“He’s in severe shock right now. They brought Aziraphale in a few hours ago. He’s been very badly hurt, and is in surgery. I can’t get Anthony to look at me, let alone tell me what happened, and I need to see if he’s been hurt.”

Anathema gasps at the sight of Crowley, her hand flying to her mouth. “Aziraphale...hurt?” Dr. Frances nods. “Oh, god, Newt...” The man with glasses gently rubs her back.

“Go on and talk to him, Ana. You’re good at that. Warlock or I would just muck things up.”

Anathema nods, and walks over to the bar owner, sitting in the hard chair next to him. She takes his hand, wincing at how cold he is. “Anthony? Sweetheart, you need to come back to us, okay? You’re at the hospital. It’s going to be okay, just look at me. It’s Anathema. Honey, come on.” She’s talking in a low cadence, almost chanting, and she strokes his hand. “Come on, come on back.”

Crowley blinks. He can feel something, hear a voice that he recognizes. An..Anathema. It’s Anathema. But she’s lying. It’s not okay. Aziraphale’s gone. Nothing is okay. Why is she lying? It’s not. Aziraphale’s not…

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Anathema’s voice is soft. She’s never soft. Always snarky. It’s why he likes her so much. Kindred spirit. Must be bad, if she’s being soft. “Anthony, sweetie, come on. Talk to me. I’m here.”

“Not okay.” Crowley’s voice is barely a whisper, and Anathema leans in, still stroking his hand and speaking in a soothing tone. “Gone. Not okay.”

“What’s not okay?”

“Not. Okay. Gone.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Gone. Not. Don’t want to be. Not without him.” Crowley’s gaze skitters over to Anathema. “Lying.”

“Oh, Crowley, honey, I’m not lying. Aziraphale’s in surgery.”

“No. Gone. Go away.” Crowley hates being lied to. Aziraphale is gone. There is no life. He doesn’t want to listen. Not to liars. He leaves again. No more liars. No more.

Anathema chokes on a sob. “Anthony?” Nothing, and she begins to cry. Newt comes over, and she falls into his arms, sobbing. Warlock is crying too, and the two adults pull him into their hug.

Dr. Frances watches, her heart breaking. “Doctor?” She turns, sighing in relief at her fellow surgeon. “Dr. Pratchett.”

The surgeon looks over her shoulder at the group huddled in the lobby. “Is that his family?”

“Yes.”

The surgeon goes over, and Anathema looks up. “Miss? I’m Dr. Pratchett.”

“Is he…?” Anathema doesn’t want to hear the news that she’s sure is coming.

“It was touch and go for a very long time there. He had some severe internal bleeding, and several very deep cuts. But we were able to stop the bleeding and get him sewn up. He’s also got a few first degree burns on his arms and legs. He’s going to live, though.”

“Oh..god..” Anathema can barely see through her tears as she turns to Crowley. “Anthony, sweetie, Aziraphale is going to be okay. He’s alive.”

“He’s alive.”

“He’s alive.”

“He’s alive.”

The words echo in Crowley’s head, and he blinks, turning to Anathema. “A...alive?” She nods, and he shakes his head. “No.”

“Anthony, was it?” There’s someone else. Another doctor. Another liar. “I assure you, she’s telling the truth. I can take you to his room, if you like.”

Room? Why a room? Morgue isn’t a room. Why all the lies? But he’ll indulge the liars. Why not. He’s got nothing left worth losing. It’s all blown away. Or up. He lets himself be led.

Why is there a number? This isn’t a morgue. Not cold. There’s a bed. There’s…

“Aziraphale?” Crowley stumbles over to the bed, falling to his knees. “Baby?”

The bookseller is lying under the covers, eyes closed, his lovely blond hair back to its natural color, his face pale and covered in tiny stitches, and what looks like a long burn mark on his right arm.

And he’s breathing.


	9. Of Recovery and Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale recovers, Gabriel wants revenge, and an unexpected savior emerges.

Chapter Nine: Of Recovery and Revenge

Aziraphale is drifting in the clouds. He looks around, puzzled. If this is Heaven, he thinks, it’s highly overrated. There’s far too much white, even for him. It needs a splash of color. Maybe some red. And it’s cold. He’d thought Heaven would be warmer, less impersonal. He really doesn’t like it here much.

“...I’m here my love...come back...” That voice. He knows that voice. Aziraphale peers into a void of blinding white, trying to see. There’s something. A vague, black and red shaped shadow. Aziraphale feels a very strong urge to go towards it. He takes a step. It feels like he’s wading through tar. He takes another, then another, and the shape becomes more defined. Crowley. With a mighty effort, Aziraphale lunges towards the shape of the man he loves.

There’s a blinding rush of white, a whooshing sound in his ears, and Aziraphale gasps for breath and opens his eyes. The white is still there ,but it’s the white of a hospital room. He feels like he’s gone twenty rounds with a herd of angry elephants, his arm looks like he shoved it into a fire and kept it there, and his legs feel like lead weights. But he’s alive, he’s breathing...and sitting next to him, head down as he snores, is Anthony. He’s got a book open in his lap, and Aziraphale can barely make out the title cover. Alice in Wonderland. One of Aziraphale’s favorites. “Crowley?” Good Lord, his voice has never sounded that hoarse before.

“Guh!” Crowley jolts awake, looking around as if unsure of his surroundings before his gaze lands on Aziraphale. “Azira?” Before the bookseller can respond, Crowley is out of the chair and on the bed, kissing him, hot tears soaking into Aziraphale’s hospital gown. “Oh god oh thank you god you’re alive you..don’t ever leave me again you goddamn bastard you beautiful wonderful perfect bastard don’t you dare leave me again don’t...” Crowley clutches the gown like a life ring.

Aziraphale lifts his arm, his muscles screaming in protest, and places his hand on Crowley’s back. “I won’t, my love. I promise.”

“Almost lost myself. Thought you...didn’t want to be, not without you.” Crowley rubs his face into Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in his scent. “Can’t be, not without you. Love you so much.” He curls up into him. “My angel. My Aziraphale.”

“My Crowley.” Aziraphale rubs circles on Crowley’s back, offering comfort. “I love you.”

Crowley sighs and kisses his shoulder. “Aziraphale? Do you...remember what happened?”

Aziraphale ponders this. “I remember you coming into my store and begging me to leave. I refused, and then...we ran out for some reason, and...then I woke up here.” He looks into Crowley’s gold eyes. “Beyond that, it’s a void.”

Crowley gulps. “There was..an explosion. You were...were caught in the worst of the blast and thrown pretty far. I landed a few feet away.”

“Explosion?!”

Crowley nods, miserable. “Yeah...the doctors think that...the only reason you didn’t die was because it was a relatively small blast, meant to take out one building, and I got you out and far enough away so the damage wasn’t...fatal.”

“What..what exploded?” Crowley gulps, looking down at the sheets. “Crowley? What exploded?”

“The bookshop. It’s...there’s nothing left. I..Aziraphale, I’m so sorry baby. It’s gone.”

Aziraphale gasps. “All of it?” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale gulps, tears flowing down his face. “I..I built that shop from nothing. I had ten boxes of books, and Gabriel...he told me I’d never make a go of it.” Aziraphale laughs harshly. “That was the first time he...made me the offer to join the Angels. I told him that at least one of us would be making an honest living. I was never wealthy from it, but...”

“But it was your livelihood. Trust me, I would feel the same if anything happened to Eden’s Serpent.”

Aziraphale nods. “I know it’s so silly to be upset. After all, I’m alive, and that’s what counts. But..all that knowledge...gone.” He starts to cry in earnest, and Crowley kisses his cheek.

“You have every right to be upset, angel. Let it out.”

And Aziraphale does. Crowley coos to him, letting his angel vent his pain and frustration. After a while, the other man winds down, his breathing harsh with sobbing.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Both men turn at the voice. Dr. Frances is standing in the door, smiling. “Now, Anthony, for the millionth time, will you please allow me to take a look at you?”

Crowley sighs and nods. “Yes, but I’m not leaving Aziraphale.” Dr. Frances rolls her eyes in amused exasperation.

“Very well. Shuck off your shirt, please.” Crowley complies, and the doctor whistles. “You are going to have some serious bruises, Anthony Crowley.” She presses the flesh, and Crowley whimpers. “You’ve got two broken ribs, but other than that...you are either the luckiest man in the world or you have your very own Guardian Angel.”

Crowley smiles down at Aziraphale, running his finger down his cheek. “Think maybe it’s both, Doc.”

Dr. Frances smiles. “I’m going to bandage you up, help your ribs heal faster. I don’t think I have to convince you to take it easy. No doing the Lindy for at least a month.” She looks over at Aziraphale. “That goes for you too.”

Aziraphale laughs. “I was never much of a dancer to begin with. Have two left feet. Though I’m rather good at the gavotte.”

Crowley shakes his head, amused. “Figures you would know a dance that hasn’t been popular since Victorian times. Tell you what, when you’re fully recovered, I’ll teach you to dance proper. I promise.”

“That depends on if I recover.”

Dr. Frances pats Aziraphale’s arm. “You’ll be fine. You were incredibly lucky as well. Guess it’s not only Anthony that has a Guardian Angel.”

Aziraphale looks up at the love of his life. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Doctor. I don’t have a Guardian Angel. I have a Guardian Demon.”

“Ex Demon,” says Crowley, smiling through his tears.

Recovery, like most things, takes a long time. Aziraphale receives a steady stream of visitors(Anathema bursts into tears and spends twenty minutes blubbering incoherently before being able to form a coherent sentence, then spends an hour alternating between berating Aziraphale and babbling about how happy she is he’s okay), and so many doctors and nurses tend to him that their faces blur together.

There’s one memorable incident when Crowley, who has refused adamantly to even consider thinking of leaving his angel’s side, is dragged out by Security only to return twenty minutes later in the lobby playing a trombone so loudly and off key that the hospital is forced to let him stay to keep the peace.

Finally, FINALLY, though, the long process is over, and he’s allowed to leave. Crowley helps him limp out of the hospital and into the parking lot, where the Bentley sits, gleaming. Crowley helps him into the passenger seat, then slides in behind the wheel. “Ready to leave?”

“My dear, I have never been more ready to leave a place.”

Crowley grins and floors it. Aziraphale yelps, hanging on to the door handle. “So...where are we going?”

“Eden’s. I want to keep you close for a while, and Eden’s the safest place for that. I...you remember that back room?”

Aziraphale grins. “You mean the one where I fell hopelessly in love with you? Of course.”

“Ngk. You...wot?”

Aziraphale smiles. “Oh, yes. I was quite gone on you from the start, Anthony Crowley.” Crowley blushes.

“Yeah, same. Anyway, made it into a sort of...well, there’s a proper bed, and I found an old battered dresser a neighbor tossed out. It’s not much, but...I want you close to me.”

Aziraphale blinks back tears. “I’m sure it’s perfect.” Crowley looks sidelong at him, a happy blush on his cheeks. He turns into Eden’s parking lot and stops the Bentley, then leans over and kisses his angel.

“Once you’re there, it will be.” He sidles out of the car and over to Aziraphale’s side, opening the door with a flourish. Giggling a bit, Aziraphale takes the offered hand and climbs out. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Grinning, Crowley leads him inside the building and into the back. “Close your eyes.” Smiling, Aziraphale complies. Crowley leads him down the hall, then opens the door to the back room. “Okay, open.”

“Oh! Oh, Crowley! It’s perfect!” The room is painted a lovely blue color, and the dresser against the wall, while a bit battered, is polished nicely. There’s a bed in the center that looks rather comfy(and has a TARTAN bedspread), and a nightstand on the left holds a potted fern. But it’s what’s on the right side of the bed that makes Aziraphale gasp in wonder. “Oh...my love...”

It’s small, as most bookshelves go, but it’s stuffed to the brim with books. Some are hardback, some are paper, and they all look a bit worn and battered from use, but they’re still books. “Where?”

Crowley shuffles his feet. “Might have had Ana go to every library in three cities and offer to buy their discarded books, and um...Newt donated a bunch too.” He yelps in happy shock when Aziraphale launches himself at the bar owner, kissing him with a passion that makes his head spin. “You’re welcome.”

Aziraphale pulls away, pressing his forehead against Crowley’s. “What did I do to deserve such a perfect man as you?”

“I ask myself that every day, my angel.” Crowley whispers before capturing his lips in another kiss. “Aziraphale..haven’t been able to touch you for months...need you...need you close...”

“Yes...” Aziraphale groans, already unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt as they stumble towards the bed.

Crowley whistles to himself as he wipes down the bar. It’s been two weeks now since Aziraphale came home, and things are going very well. He stops polishing, sighing as a thought comes to his mind. The same thought that’s been niggling in the back of his head for a while now.

He loves Aziraphale more than anything, and here, in the safety of Eden, he can declare that love. He’s free to kiss, and touch, and do more, if Aziraphale should ever wish. But he can never be his husband, never stand before God and man and say ‘I do,’ never be allowed to openly and blatantly declare his love in a public space. Not without them both getting in serious trouble.

But maybe..maybe they can still pretend. Crowley wishes that they could do more but.. Maybe...pretending will be enough. He sighs, then continues polishing, the routine task helping him drift.

The sound of the door opening causes him to look up, and he feels a surge of rage so powerful that it makes him stagger from the force of it. “You are not welcome here. I suggest you fuck all the way off.”

Gabriel looks around, sneering. “So this is Eden’s Serpent. God, it’s even more horrendous than I imagined.” He walks over to the bar, sneer still fixed on his face. “You must be Crawley.”

“It’s Crowley, and I told you to fuck off.”

Gabriel smirks. “Whatever. I have it on good authority that my brother has been seen around here. I’d like to speak to him. Now.”

“No. Fuck off and die.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand, Sunshine. Either you tell that cake eater to come out and talk to me, or..” he pulls out his gun, pointing it straight at Crowley’s head. “I blow your brains out all over that mirror.”

Crowley gulps. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes?” Comes the voice from the back.

“Someone to see you.”

Aziraphale comes out, looking puzzled. “Who on...Gabriel.” Crowley has never heard his voice sound that cold with rage. “What are you doing here?”

Gabriel cuts his gaze over to Aziraphale. “I have a proposition, little brother. You agree to come with me, be a proper Angel, and I’ll let this snake live. Hell, I’ll even get in touch with Azrael and tell him that the contract is nullified. Make it so you’re off limits to every Horse Person, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything else ever again. Refuse, and the last thing you’ll see is this asshole’s brains exiting his head.”

Aziraphale can barely speak through his rage. “You...you hired him, didn’t you?! The man that tried to kill us?! YOU FUCKING HIRED HIM TO KILL ME?!”

Gabriel shrugs. “So what if I did? I’m waiting for an answer, Az.”

“My. Name. Is. AZIRAPHALE. And you and your offer can go straight to Hell.”

Gabriel looks at Crowley with mock sadness. “Too bad. He chose the wrong option. Say goodbye, Crawley.” He cocks back the trigger, and Crowley closes his eyes. ‘I love you, Angel.’

“NOOO!!”

There’s a sound like a thunderclap, and Aziraphale screams, hands in front of his face.

Crowley opens his eyes, very puzzled. There’s blood on his face and in his eyes, but...he’s alive? Did Gabriel miss? “What the fuck…?” He pats himself. No blood, no bullet holes. But there was a gunshot.

He blinks, and realizes two things. First, Gabriel is slumped across the bar, an expression of shock on his face and a neat hole in his head. He’s very much dead. And second, standing behind him, an implacable expression on her face, is Michael, gun in her hand still smoking. “Ngk?” Crowley manages.

Michael pockets her gun, looking as unruffled as ever. “I followed him. He’s been getting too unstable lately. The Angels needed a change in leadership. Don’t worry, I’ll keep up the deal and call Azrael off. And Aziraphale...he doesn’t have to be one of us.” Her face twitches into what could almost be called a smile. “Then again, he never really was. I’ll call some people I know, have them get rid of the body.” With a nod, she turns and walks out.

Still not quite sure what the fuck just happened, Crowley stumbles over to Aziraphale. “Aziraphale? Baby, look at me.” The bookseller peeps out from behind his hands.

“Crowley?!”

“Yeah love, it’s me. We’re safe. Gabriel’s gone, he won’t ever hurt us again.”

“Oh, thank the Heavens.”


	10. Of Endings and Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they all live happily ever after.

Chapter Ten: Of Endings and Eternity

“It’s going to be okay, Angel. Nothing will happen.” Crowley says, taking Aziraphale’s hand and smiling into his eyes. “Remember what Michael promised.”

Aziraphale gulps. It’s been a week since Michael became the new leader of the Angels by murdering her boss, and she has promised that Aziraphale is free to leave the ranks, free to live his own life. But there’s still that tattoo, a reminder of what his brother has done.

“I know, but...I don’t know if I want them removed any more. Is...is it terrible that I’ve become sort of, well, attached to them?”

Crowley strokes his cheek. “It’s not terrible at all, my love. It just lends further credibility to you being a real angel. You’ve got wings.”

Aziraphale giggles and pecks Crowley on the lips. “All I need is a flaming sword, and I’ll be just like my Biblical counterpart. Granted, the angel gave his sword away to the humans.”

Crowley laughs. “Of course you’re named after an angel that gives away a flaming sword. Of course you are. Now, are you ready for this?”

Aziraphale nods, looking around the small tattoo parlor they’re in. “And you trust this person?”

“Dagon? Of course.”

“I heard my name!” A heavily tattooed woman comes out from behind a curtain that stands on Aziraphale’s left, a smile on her face. She glares in fond exasperation at Crowley. “Tony! Don’t tell me you’re finally going to take me up on my offer to tat those wings on your back! You’d look amazing, and you know it!”

Crowley shrugs. “Well, umm...” he looks over at Aziraphale, who grins and nods. “Okay.” Dagon grins, showing off some rather sharp teeth, and starts dragging Crowley back behind the curtain. “Dagon, waitaminute!”

Dagon pauses, glaring at him. “What?” Crowley indicates Aziraphale, who has followed them.

“I’m actually here for him. He needs a tat altered.”

Dagon snorts. “Him? He looks like a librarian. What’s the tat? A little book?”

Crowley glares daggers at her. “He is a bookseller, and wings. On his back.” Dagon snorts again. “Show her, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale removes his shirt and turns around. Dagon squints.

“Fucking Hell, Tony, are you trying to get me killed?! Those are goddamn Angel wings! Why are you bringing a fucking Angel here?!” She shouts, face red with rage.

Aziraphale holds up a hand. “Dear lady, calm yourself. I’m not an Angel. Not anymore.”

“Bull-fucking-shit.”

“I assure you, I am telling the truth. I...look, it is a rather long story.”

Dagon crosses her arms, still glaring. “I’m listening.”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and begins to talk. When he’s done, Dagon is gaping at him. “You believe me now?”

“Uh...yeah. Nobody could make up a tale like that. Okay, fine. What do you want, removal or alteration?”

“Oh, alteration, I should think. Maybe add some color to them. Crowley dear, what sort of wings are you going to get?”

Crowley tilts his head, grinning. “Black and red ones, what else? You should get gold and white.”

Aziraphale grins at Dagon. “Gold and white, please. Oh, and...I would also love a flaming sword right here.” He indicates his left bicep, and Dagon nods.

“Never done a flaming sword before. Could be a lot of fun. Right, have a seat, Azi...I’m sorry, your name is way too hard. I’m just going to call you Zira.”

Before Aziraphale can protest that he despises nicknames, Dagon shoves him into the chair.

“I LOVE IT!” Anathema squeals. Aziraphale grins, tilting his arm so she can get a better look at his new tattoo. “It really suits you! Now, show me the new wings.”

“Hardly new, my dear, just...” Anathema glares at him, and Aziraphale sighs, removing his shirt and turning.

“Oh! They’re so lovely! And now it’s your turn.” She turns to Crowley. “Okay, your turn.”

Crowley gives a long suffering sigh and shows off his new acquisition. “We match now.”

Anathema smirks. “Yeah, but Aziraphale’s got the bigger wings.” Crowley chokes on air, and Anathema giggles. “Not what I meant, but...”

Aziraphale blushes beet red. “Could we please not talk about the size of my...wings?”

“Yes!” Crowley squeaks out, just as red as his lover. “Other things! Um...oh, Ana, how’s the project going? The...very special project?”

Anathema beams. “It’s going great! Just needs a few more finishing touches, and then the person that the project is for will be very pleasantly surprised. In fact, I think Newt and Warlock are almost done.”

Aziraphale looks at both of them, raging curiosity in his gaze. “What project? Crowley, you never so much as indicated you were working on something! Who is it for? Where is it?”

Anathema and Crowley exchange conspiratorial winks. “Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on for the past three months. Had a lot of components, that’s why it took so long.” Crowley says with nonchalance. “Ana, you know, even if it’s not fully done, maybe Aziraphale could be brought in to help a bit? What do you think?”

Anathema smirks. “Oh, I don’t know. Hell, why not. What do you say, Aziraphale? Would you like to help us?”

Aziraphale wiggles in excitement. “Oh, I would love to help!” Crowley smiles and takes his hand, leading him out of Eden and down the street to another warehouse. “Is this where the project is?”

Crowley is almost bursting with excitement. “Yep, but..since you’re just being brought on now, you...have to close your eyes.”

Aziraphale complies, and Crowley leads him inside. “Okay, angel. Open.”

Aziraphale opens his eyes, looks around, and bursts into tears. “C..Crowley, my love...”

The warehouse has been transformed from an empty building into a bookshop. Shelves that reach to the ceiling are stuffed to the brim with all sorts of books, there’s a very shabby but comfortable looking couch in the middle of the room, a battered old cash register on a counter, and painted in large black letters on the back wall is A.Z. FELL, BOOKSELLER. Crowley pulls the sobbing angel into his arms.

“This is..well, it’s just temporary, and it’s really only part of the project. I...I have some connections, people in the construction business. Your shop is going to be rebuilt. All new foundations, walls, everything. But until it is, at least you can still have the books.”

Aziraphale is still sobbing too hard to speak. Instead, he grabs Crowley’s lapels and yanks him into a deep, passionate kiss. Crowley kisses him back, sighing into his mouth.

He has his angel, and he’s never letting him go.


End file.
